No Scapegoat
by Ballanchinewriting2
Summary: Post-Smoked. "Tonight there are no scapegoats and no blame." Just a little piece on how I think the first 20 minutes after the shooting could have gone. BTW wrote this before CM's announcement. Strong E/O friendship and maybe even more...


**A/N: I always forget these. I get so excited to post and then forget to say that I don't own the characters. Duh! Anyways, here's my take on the 20 mins after Smoked. It's before CM's announcement and therefore doesn't reflect that, quite the opposite really. Drop a review please..**

It takes us forever to get off the ground. Even as I feel Sister Peg's blood permeating my skin, I can't move. I just sit there and stare at Elliot, struggling to comprehend the loss of life that has just occurred. It takes Fin's hand on my shoulder to break the gaze between Elliot and I. Fin coaxes me off the floor, saying that Warner has to get in here. I remember nodding numbly as Fin led me over to the paramedics. Before I could protest, they were on me. "What's your name?" "What's your badge number?" "What's your rank?" I respond accurately by telling them each time that, "No, I'm not in shock. Will you please leave me alone?" This only seems to make them doubt me more, but I eventually convince them that I'm okay. Do I really have any other choice? Before they leave me be though, they hand me a bottle of ginger-ale, make me put on a jacket and force a bite of Snickers down my throat. I wait until they're interrogating someone else before I spit out the offending piece of candy and go to find him. I've got to find Elliot.

We always know where the other one is at all times. It's a damn useful connection that has kept us alive on the streets forever. Cap calls it a sixth sense and Munch rambles on and on about some telekinesis-twin thing, but I know what it really is. After twelve years of a partnership we simply _are_ each other. We think alike, we feel alike and are affected in corresponding ways. We've just become experts at each other.

Despite all this though, it still takes me awhile to get to him. My statement is wanted, comforting hands delay me and I must learn to walk blindly past a still warm body bag. But, I make it. I always do and always will. He walks out of the men's room just as I start to lean against the wall. His hand hovers tellingly just over his stomach. I wince empathetically. I've been there more than once, probably more than twice.

"Are you alright?" We both ask at the exact same moment. We share a laugh more because old habits die hard than anything else. He glances down at me then.

"There's blood on your shirt" he says. We've said that to each other so many times that it's devolved from a shocking observation to a mere statement. One more shirt down…so many yet to go.

"I'm fine" I respond. He gives me his signature bullshit smirk and I avert my eyes. That connection thing can work against us too. As my eyes search for something to hold onto that's not my partner, they fall on Sister Peg's body bag. I sag a little under the guilt.

"Come on, Liv" Elliot says, placing a hand on my back as he senses me falter. He guides me forward slowly, like a horse with blinders on. He's my driver, taking in all the gruesome things he doesn't want me to see. When we arrive at the lounge, he steps aside. The blinders come off and it's just us and our demons. I hear him swallow unevenly and I thrust out the ginger-ale. My hands shake and he knows me well enough to pretend he doesn't see it.

"Take a sip, El. It should help" I say. He smiles gratefully at me and takes a tentative sip.

"Thanks" he says, but I can't hear him. In a vain attempt to get Sister Peg's blood off my skin and the guilt off my chest, I've turned the water on full blast. Elliot sits down numbly as I try to sear off the top layer of my skin. "You give your statement yet?" he calls over the water. I squeeze more soap out and begin to scratch off my manicure, positive that the damn-near flawless polish has blood in it. "Liv?" Elliot prompts me. I glance up, dropping the soap with a clang.

"Oh, uh no" I say, digging my nails into the soap until I'm sure there's no blood left underneath them. "The, um, paramedics thought I was in shock." He nods and watches me meticulously clean each nail until the cuticles are raw and about to bleed. "Did you?" I ask.

"I started to, but my stomach had other plans for me" he says, taking another slow sip of the ginger-ale. I scrub in silence for awhile.

"I should have known Elliot" I whisper, almost like I'm talking to him without him knowing it. He heard me though, and now he's staring at me, ready to put those blinders back on.

"What do you mean Liv?" he asks, rolling the ginger-ale bottle between his palms. "There's no way you co—"

"Yeah there is El" I say. "I've been a cop for years, I know that look. I—of all people—should recognize the moment when all control is lost. I saw it in Jenna's eyes. In the back on my mind I knew this was going to happen."

"Liv, you aren't psychic," he says, "Or the world's biggest pessimist, there is no way that you could have been 100 percent positive that Jenna was going to…" he trails off, unsure if he can say it and not end up back in that bathroom.

"I'm sorry Elliot" I say, scrubbing harder now that I feel tears threatening. "If I had stopped her you wouldn't have had to do what you did. No one would have gotten hurt" I start to ramble. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I let that ha—"

Suddenly he is beside me and the water is turned off. My hands are bleeding all over the paper towel he is rapidly wrapping around them.

"Don't you ever speak like that again, okay Liv?" he says. My hands are bleeding and stinging as he stems the flow of blood. The last thing this place needs is more blood. "The last time I checked we were both in that room together. I need you to get through this with me."

"Elliot, I—" I start, but he squeezes harder on my hands and his desperation halts my words.

"Promise me, Liv" he says. "No scapegoats. Not now, not ever. It's us, our demons, our responsibilities and our strength. We are in this together." He removes the towel and begins to pull away, but I'm hugging him before he even makes it a step away. He doesn't hesitate, and soon his arms are around me and I'm crying. It feels so familiar and that makes me sad, but also comforts me. He's always been there for me.

"It's okay, El" I say into his shoulder when the tears begin to fade away. "I'm okay." We both pull away slowly. He sits me down in a chair and I run a hand over my eyes, feeling a migraine beginning. Before I've dropped my hand, he's placing two Advils in the palm of my other hand. I smile. "Thanks" I say, dry swallowing the pills.

"You need to have the paramedics look at your hands" he says.

"Battle scars heal, El" I say, looking back out at the bustling precinct. He follows my gaze.

"They'll be looking for us" he says. "IAB is already here, and there out for blood." I look at him and he gives me a half-hearted smile. "Poor choice of words, I know" he says, extending his hand and pulling me to my feet. We don't let go immediately, even though Tucker could turn around in an instant and catch us 'fraternizing.' We start into the precinct then, our grasp slowly releasing as we make our way towards Cragen. We will give our statements together, because tonight, there's just the two of us.

Tonight there will be no blame.

Tonight there will be no regret.

Tonight there will be no scapegoat.


End file.
